


Dear Louis

by lonelyrain



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fanfiction, Fiction, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29734884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyrain/pseuds/lonelyrain
Summary: You’d look down and murmur “My sleepy Hazza, hm? Did I wake you?” while brushing annoying locks behind my ears. I’d lazily grin and pull you down to me. Only writing that down right now is making me tear up.Then, we grew up.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 15





	Dear Louis

Dear Louis 

It‘s me. I bet you didn’t expect this. How could you?

It‘s been five years since we last saw each other, in our apartment in Manchester.

Do you remember that day? Don‘t tell me if the answer is no. I couldn’t handle that. But you do, don‘t you? You remember it as clearly as I do. I mean, I cried my eyes out and you looked like you were going to be sick. If you did forget, congratulations. It’s not a fond memory of mine.

I‘m sure you’re wondering why I’m writing you after all this time. I should have been done back then and erased you out of my life. And I did. At least, I tried to. I haven’t talked to you since I’ve told you I accepted the offer atNYU. We used to laugh our arses off at the idea of making it to the big cities, but look where we are. 

Yes, I wrote “we”, because a good friend from Manchester, Ted, recently texted me and told me you were in LA, working on a song. You certainly remember him, right? We used to steal our beer from him, ah, good times. Anyway, I never knew that you fulfilled your dream and became a songwriter. Found out then that a lot of the songs that I listen to religiously had been written by you. I knew you would make it, Louis. I always knew. You know that I knew, right? I used to whisper it into the air between us under the sheets and yes, the heater was always cold, because you couldn’t afford better, but Louis, I knew back then. I knew that at some point, you would have a perfectly fine heater in a perfectly fine apartment. I’m so proud. You deserve it. 

On this fine Tuesday morning I would like to take the time to talk to you for a little while. I hope that a) you can still read my handwriting (since you gave me so much shit about it always) and b) you have the time to read it. I won’t ask it of you, I’m honestly expecting this letter to land in the trash as soon as you find it. 

If you do find it in your mailbox (maybe you ‘famous’ songwriters have them delivered somewhere else or so, I’m not familiar with that), get all annoyed with opening it since you’d never use a paper knife and then decide that it’s worth a read, welcome. Sit down. Have a cup of tea. Have a few deep breaths if you’re fuming at the outrageousness that your ex-lover laid upon you. There are a few things I’ve never told you and I would never forgive myself if something happened to either of us without you knowing it. 

Louis, do you remember how we met? You came into the bakery and as soon as I saw you, the butterflies in my stomach were trying to escape, kicking against the insides of my belly, making me dizzy. Naturally, I totally made a fool of myself trying to impress you with my crazy barista techniques, splattering milk all over my apron. God, I really hope you forgot that part. 

If you did, you‘re welcome for me bringing it up again. The thing was, you were all cheeky and witty and you teased me for messing up and you laughed, but I immediately felt that you were laughing to calm me down rather than to make fun of me. My cheeks were so hot under your interested gaze, I thought I was going to melt to putty right in front of your eyes. You handled it really well, I’m sure you had a lot of admirers before me, it was nothing new to you. 

You just grinned and made smalltalk and when I handed you your order, two chocolate donuts, a Yorkshire tea and a cappuccino, you leaned over and that’s when I noticed that your eyes were blue. 

Trust me, I’ve written odes about your arse, but your eyes, Lou. Your eyes are what reeled me in. Can I tell you something embarrassing? One night, (you were long asleep next to me) I googled the blue palette to finally find out what kind of blue it was, I wanted to find the perfect shade. 

What I realized? 

I couldn’t pick one, because your eyes sometimes changed color so randomly that they were all kinds of blue but also none. So I chose the “Louis blue”, because they reminded me a lot of your eyes in the morning when you lazily looked up at me. Also, it has your name in it. Duh (learned that word in America, believe it or not). 

I can’t even imagine your face right now, reading these lines. You must be so confused. Harry Styles reaching out after five years, after everything that’s happened, only to talk about your eyes, compliment after compliment? No, I promise I’m going somewhere with this, really. Talking about you always makes me lose track.

So, back to it. When I handed you your order, you said something along the lines of “Since you’ve given me food, I should probably give you something in return, shouldn’t I?” And of course, my dumbarse replied with “Uuh, the prize?” Thankfully, you didn’t mind and gave me your number anyway. I remember walking home that day, so embarrassed, asking how someone as confident as you would ever be interested in talking to someone like me. How you probably pitied me. But for some reason, you didn’t. I called you that day and you picked up. Remember that? We talked until midnight and I laid awake, thinking I was already madly in love.

The drive really took a toll on us at the beginning. You were only at the Mandeville Bakery for a coincidence and I had falsely assumed you lived nearby, when you really lived in Doncaster, one hour and forty-eight minutes away. By car. At first we only texted and called each other and then your mum was so nice to drive you over one weekend, four months after meeting that first time. 

Only thinking about it makes me weak in my knees and it’s astounding that I remember that feeling since it only happened with you. We walked around, giggling like little children and you talked and talked and talked. It was an honor to listen. At that point, we were only 16 and 18 and back then, I never thought that we’d be best friends for such a long time. But you stayed over that weekend, and a few weeks later, I stayed over at your place and Jay was such a sweetheart and made me feel so welcome. Never had I felt to comfortable in a place that wasn’t my own. 

I think we always knew that it was more than friendship, deep down. Whenever we touched, sparks flew. But we laughed it off, because we were young and stupid. I told you at my 17th birthday that I thought I was bi. It was hard to admit, but you said that it didn’t matter and that labels didn’t matter and that only mattered what I felt and only what I felt. 

I was secretly hoping that you would tell me you felt similar, but you didn’t. I think you suffered a lot more with that knowledge than I did. I wished you had taken your own words more seriously, but I guess people are always harder on themselves. 

It was rainy that day. We had fought over the phone over an instagram photo you had posted, a picture of you and Thomas. It wasn’t that he was kissing your cheek, but that you had never mentioned him and that at that point in time, I was sure that you knew how I felt. I didn’t care how I came across. Louis, it was frustrating seeing Niall and all my friends fall in love right and left and I couldn’t touch you, let alone see you. We were only friends and I was okay with that until I wasn’t. 

You came with the train and I knew that it had taken you almost three hours. You looked tired and exhausted, coming up the stairs, your brown hair falling across your forehead and your blue eyes much more cloudy, darker. 

You still came, despite our fight, and you did it, because you knew it mattered to me, because I had talked about it for weeks, finally seeing my best mate again. I almost jumped into your arms and cried, because I’m such a crybaby, I am. The day we parted, five years ago, I‘ve cried so hard that I was certain my eyes couldn’t produce more tears. 

That day I made sure that Mum and Robin went out, just so we were alone for a few hours. I had just realized how much I really wanted you. I was so scared when you made that fire in my backyard and we just sat there, our fight still hanging in the air. I was scared, because I knew that it was a secret I could no longer keep. I just kissed you. You were so still I thought you were going to push me away and leave. I leaned back so I could give you some space and whispered “This is why it’s an issue. I’m sorry, Lou”. 

You looked up and gave me an exhausted smile, eyes torn, furrowed eyebrows. In that moment I thought it was over.

Then, you pulled me close and kissed me again. I slipped my hand into the pocket of your green jacket and I gripped so hard, because it wasn’t over. It had just begun. 

We were crazy in love then, weren’t we? Always finding time to see each other, spending so much time in trains and cars just because we were in love. I mean, that’s what I would call it. I was in love. I am sure you were in love with me, at that time. And we were on each other whenever we could. I was so happy that I had somehow convinced you of loving me back, because I couldn’t handle you having another partner, you were mine. 

And whenever you pushed into me, whenever you put your hand over my mouth when you made love to me in my old bedroom and I would moan too loudly, whenever our sweaty bodies intertwined, I made sure you knew that. 

“You’re mine”, I’d whisper it into your skin like an invisible tattoo, over every part of your skin. Over your beautiful neck, often full of purple and red hearts, your fit chest, over your little tummy that you were insecure about but I loved unconditionally, over your knees and your legs, even that time when you broke your foot. I wanted you to know that you were mine. I wanted you to know at my mum’s place, at your mum’s place, at your flat in Manchester when I drove over to see you there and then two years later when I moved in, I wanted you to know then and there that Louis William Tomlinson belonged to Harry. 

Do you still have your tattoos, by the way? Or have you had them lasered off? I still have them. They tell our story and I’d rather die with them than have them erased, because guess what? It’s tattooed into my brain and my heart anyway, why get rid of the evidence when it’s so obvious?

I think we got our first tattoos one year into our relationship and then just kept doing it. I started alone, because you were so abundant about “keeping your skin clean”, but you caved at some point. My favorite ones are obviously the ship and the compass, we did them the week I moved into our apartment. 

Louis, it’s so bizarre we never talked it out. I left and you left and we just never had the courage to ... I don’t know. Like, we had been through so much, through all seven years of our relationship, and it ended within a year. I know you want to shut out the reason and not talk about it, but we have to do it at some point. 

I need to get it out, I’ve been keeping it inside for all these years and you may be strong enough to forget it and move on, see this as just a relationship that didn’t work out, but you’re lying to yourself. We were never just in a “relationship”, we were everything. 

The day I moved in with you, a day I had been desperately waiting for two years, I wanted it all with you. 

And do you remember our apartment? We painted it yellow and blue and pastel pink and it looked so weird that I wanted someone professional to repaint it. “No”, you said. “It’s us. We made that, it’s gonna stay”. And we fought about so many things, because we had lived apart for years, we didn’t know how to be together. 

But the day we both came home with the same ice cream after a fight- I think that’s when it clicked. That’s when we clicked together. 

It’s always an honor to relive what we experienced. Through uni and spending all this time with Niall, Liam, Zayn, Oli etc. we had a little family in Manchester. We still visited the rest, but we were Harry and Louis. Louis and Harry. 

I wanted to marry you, you know? I wanted to marry the fuck out of you.

When did we fall apart, Louis? 

Was it when I got that job in the acting agency, running around in black clothes, handing out props and water bottles. No, I don’t think so.

Was it when you started working in the restaurant, taking late hours next to uni? No, that was fine.

So what was the issue? It was that we fell apart even though we lived in the same apartment. When I came home from work, you’d leave and when you’d get back home, I’d have a casting or music class. It was a circle that eventually was going to break us. 

It was gradually happening in front of our eyes. That first year was heaven. We were living our dream, living in Manchester in a great flat full of plants and no people we had to sneak around. Remember how we joked we could finally have sex without having to keep quiet all the time? I’m sure that my mum had heard us a few times, but as lovely as she is, she has never mentioned it. 

We were young, jokingly waltzing through our little kitchen, adding tally lines on our blackboard for whenever Niall clogged our toilet and arguing at football games. We we young, stupid, (a little sexcrazy, I assume) and so happy. 

Often, when I studied, I’d look over to you in adoration as you scribbled down lines, nervously biting the end of your pencil. You struggling with your homework as I rubbed your back, peppering it with kisses. Us eating cold noodles as we watched Interviews of celebrities, giggling to ourselves, joking that, if we’d ever made it, we would be the ones sitting in front of James Corden. You gifting me a rose ring after your promotion, panting “Get used to being spoiled, Harold. Gonna spoil you all the fucking time” while I ran my nails down your back in arousal, laughing at the red marks later. I remember waking up in our cheap, but comfortable bed and you’d sit there in boxers, softly playing the guitar. Those were my favorite mornings. 

You’d look down and murmur “My sleepy Hazza, hm? Did I wake you?” while brushing annoying locks behind my ears. I’d lazily grin and pull you down to me. Only writing that down right now is making me tear up. 

Then, we grew up. 

With uni, work and my castings we should’ve been able to make it work. But looking back now, we were so stubborn, telling ourselves that we were okay that we completely crossed the line. And when I realized that we hadn’t had a proper conversation for weeks and we hadn’t eaten at the same table for about a month and we hadn’t slept together in half a year, that’s when it was too late.We were both so eager to be successful that we forgot how to be happy. 

But Louis, I tried. Sometimes, I’d look at you and whisper “I miss you” and you’d say “Why? I’m right here?”, but you weren’t Lou, you were away, far, far, away. I’d do us a proper dinner, fajitas, and you’d look at it and say “I really want to, but I promised Oli to -“. I tried to wake you up with a blowjob, and you pushed me away, scrambling to get up, because you realized you were late to class.

In hindsight, I might have done similar things without realizing it. I think we did these things subconsciously, but blamed the other one for not fighting enough. 

When I told you about my scholarship at NYU, you nodded. You were just getting ready for class and you hadn’t shaved in a week, a year before that I would’ve gone crazy about it, would’ve begged you to push your head between my thighs so I could feel the scruff on the place I needed you the most in. You knew how much I loved that. You nodded, grabbing your denim jacket. “Congratulations, Haz”, you said and kissed me on the cheek. You hadn’t done that in a while. 

“Louis, it’s in New York”, because you hadn’t listened to what I said. Or had you?

Did you realize I was going and just didn’t want to acknowledge it? I think you didn’t listen and just congratulated me for something, like feeling good at a casting or seeing some celebrity. 

“In New York?”, you had mumbled, stepping away.

“It’s in New York. I will move to New York”, I said. I brushed my hair out of my face, the hair you loved so much but hadn’t ruffled in months. When we met, that’s all you talked about, kept pulling it and squeezing it, pushing it behind my ears. When we fucked, you pulled it too, but for other reasons. You knew it would make me pant into your neck and move quicker against you. It was like your secret technique, you knew that move would melt me to putty. “My little, innocent Harry, huh? Only I know that you’re like this, right? Right?”, you’d say and twist my nipple and I’d just whisper a broken “All yours” into your mouth, because as much as you were mine, I was yours. 

“Oh”, you answered. And then you grabbed your backpack. 

“Louis, we should talk about that”

“Yeah, we should”, you said, and when you rubbed your hand over your cheek, that’s when I thought you’d finally show some emotion. We were so open with our feelings, always crying to each other about things, even when we just met. Once, you cried to me over the phone over that stupid geography teacher that said you’d never amount to anything. My blood had boiled, but I knew that you wanted me to just listen and stay quiet. 

“Can we talk about it when I get back?”, you asked, eyes down, shadow on your cheeks. 

I was speechless. 

“No, it can’t wait”

“Harry, you can’t spring this on me. I need time to process that”

“Do it here. Process it with me, please”, I almost begged. 

Louis, if you had said “Stay”, I would have stayed. But I knew that you would have never said that, rather wanting me to live out my dreams. 

“It’s really not a good time, I have - “

“What do you have now? Huh?” 

What was more important than trying to save our relationship?

You looked up, suddenly anger in your eyes. 

“I have an exam in four hours and need to look at some stuff before taking the test. Why do I have to justify that? The world doesn’t only resolve around you, DiCaprio”

You could have slapped me in the face instead.

“I- but I”, I tried. But Louis, I was tired of trying. I was tired.

“Well, go then. Good luck”

You looked at me, broken, holding my pieces together myself. Did you notice that I was on the edge of letting it all drop to the ground?

“When I get back around 9pm, we’ll talk. I promise”, you said, walked over and kissed me. I was shocked, because I hadn’t felt your lips on mine for an eternity, even if it was just a soft press of lips. I must have blushed.

“Okay”

Finally, I had hope that we could talk it out and make it work. I could try to come over to Manchester once in a while, we could have phone calls every two days, make a virtual date night once a week. We could have made it work. 

You remember what happened next? You must. 

At 11pm, I sat on our floor in the kitchen, head against the cardboard, tequila bottle in my left hand. My phone vibrated on the floor. I picked it up and saw that someone had sent me a video. 

Yes, Louis. I knew that you kissed that guy at the party. I knew. I got sick over the way he kissed you, grabbing your face like that. 

The images are burnt into my eyes and I’ve had nightmares over this video, replaying in my head like a broken record. You didn’t push him away. You hadn’t kissed me like this in - I don’t know how long. 

I got angry at the way I looked at the video, because still, I kept thinking about how beautiful you looked.

The tears came flooding. 

Why were you at that party, Louis? Why? Why were you, two hours after promised, at some party when you could have been with me? Wasn’t my company enough anymore? I checked and you didn’t lie about the exam, but why didn’t you come home afterwards? Come home into my arms? 

I called Niall and you know the rest. I’m glad that Liam was in the apartment when you strolled in and saw that half of the drawers were empty. I told him to, but I’m sure he has mentioned it to you.

It must have felt shitty to see my things, but guess what, Louis? It felt shittier emptying the drawers, tears in my eyes and alcohol in my blood. It felt shittier having to hurry, because I couldn’t see you, had to leave immediately. 

The next part is what you don’t know, but I did stay at Nick’s place. When you visited him to ask about me, I hid in the storage, too much of a coward to see you again. 

I’m sorry I made him lie to you, I’m sorry I made Niall, Liam and Zayn lie to you about my whereabouts, but I couldn’t see you. I would have broken into tears, and I didn’t need your excuses. Would you have just blamed the alcohol on it, said, that he just kissed you and you didn’t expect it? 

I felt so much. I felt anger, sadness, confusion, but I just couldn’t understand how this could have happened.

I flew to New York in September. 

Honestly, it’s been great. You know how much I love acting, the training was great and I met so many inspiring people. It’s like I had opened another door to my personality, learning so much about myself that I often felt like picking up a book and writing it all down. 

I didn’t reach out to you, because I didn’t think that you wanted me to. Also, what had happened still sat deep in my bones, because I had never thought of you as a cheater.

I dated a bit, Richard, Lucas, Ashton and Steven. You know what they had in common? Brown hair, blue eyes and being shorter than me. I think that tells you what you need to know, because surprisingly, I only noticed later.

We’ve almost reached the end of the letter. Are you more confused or less confused? Well, I didn’t even tell you my intent with this letter, I guess. 

The thing is, this past year a movie has been in the works and guess what - I’m in that movie. I am legally not allowed to tell you, but I will since I’m assuming you have already thrown this letter out.

The movie is directed by Steven Spielberg. Yes, Louis, that Steven Spielberg. 

You were obsessed with his books, often reading them out to me when I snuggled up to you in the night, the only thing alight the lamp on your desk, then begging me to see the movies with you. The movie will come out in a few months and I am warning you, because in the movie, I make it until the end - that means you’ll see a whole lot of me. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I have taken that role when I knew that you don’t want to see me in a movie of your favorite author and director. I understand your anger. 

But I took that role, because I wanted it. This is a beginning for me and it’s all I’ve been striving for since I’ve started my castings. You know that the best. I don’t regret it. I just want to warn you, because nobody knows except for my family and Niall. My face might be all over the internet for a while since people in the industry think that the movie is going to be big. You must get what I mean since you live in LA. Lots of interviews and promo-stuff.

Also, speaking of LA... most of those interviews are going to be in LA. I don’t think we will cross paths, but it’s another thing I’m warning you of. 

Wow, this letter really had it all. 

I know that I probably shouldn’t have written this, but this is closure. I’ve been keeping it inside for a while now and since a lot of people will mention to you that I’m in a movie (you know how people are), you should know my side of the story so there are no hard feelings. I’ve forgiven you for the things that happened and I hope you have forgiven me too. 

We were kids, Lou. 

But, in case you wanted to know ... I still love you. I have always loved you. When Steven broke up with me, after two months of dating, he looked at me and said “I don’t know who it is, but you need to get it together and talk to them. You’re clearly not done”. He was right. 

I know I shouldn’t ask this of you, it’s a lot. But please, just read these last lines and then you can tear this letter apart and never think of me again. 

I should be angry at you for cheating on me on the day I needed you the most. But, unfortunately for me, I can’t be angry for something that built up for a year and is both of our faults. I don’t know who started it, but I was the one who ended it. 

May 22th. The movie comes out on that date. I will be in LA from the tenth to the seventeenth of February for interviews and will be staying at the “Montage Beverly Hills”.  I’ll be back in LA in May for the movie premiere, I’ll probably stay a week. 

In case you wanted to know. 

I just wanted to put that out there. You can meet me there. You can not meet me there. Sorry to put this on you, love, but if our relationship ever meant something to you, this is your chance to talk it out like grown ups. No interruptions. No yelling. We’ve grown up. I want a future with you. I’ve already lost five years in which we could have been together and I don’t want to lose more. 

My Louis. You’re it for me. I can only pray that you feel the same way. If not, I’m still eternally grateful for having found my best friend and lover in you and for the way you have shaped me. Thank you, darling. 

All the Love xx 

H 

27th of November, 2018

* * *

“Please welcome, Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd cheered as Harry walked out, hands clasped together in a grateful manner, making his way towards the host. 

They shook hands and James Corden gestures him to sit down, the audience still cheering.

“Okay, we get it, we get it”, James says, playing annoyed, and the audience laughs.

“Thanks for coming to the show”

“Thanks for having me. I can’t believe I’m here, Harry immediately replies, nervously brushing his short hair out of his face.

“Now, it’s been quite a journey for you, hasn’t it? Studied acting at NYU and immediately getting your first big moment, it doesn’t happen to everybody. How are you feeling?”

“Uhm...I can’t even describe how I feel, to be honest. I’m so grateful for having this amazing chance so early on in my career, it’s amazing”

“Yeah, it must be. I mean, acting next to Dakota Johnson and Chris Evans among others, it must have been quite the experience”  


“It was, it was. Uh, there were a lot of people that were all just very nice. I mean, I can only say good things”, he says with a chuckle.

“Now...I have seen a certain behind-the-scenes picture”, James says and on their side, a picture of the cast gets inserted onto the screen, they all covered in a white, liquid-y substance.  


The audience laughs.

“Yeah, about that...”, Harry says while making a gesture, grinning knowingly.

The audience laughs again, a few higher laughs standing out. Harry looks to the side, smiling cheekily.

“I know what it looks like”

“I mean...we all know what it looks like”, James remarks as he looks at the picture intensively, not looking away.

More laughter. 

“I mean...I don’t think that we need to elaborate”, James says with a smirk to the audience.

“I can not say exactly what it is, but you will see more of that in the movie”, Harry ensures, getting some chuckles.

“What, really? I’m doubting what kind of movie we’ll be seeing”

“I think that in any movie directed by Steven Spielberg, you will see something that doesn’t necessarily happen in other movies. It’s gonna be a surprise and I hope that the audience will like it just as much as we did when shooting it. I mean, you’ll see. But I can promise you that it has nothing to do with what you’re implying at”, Harry says, and with laughter, James takes over.

The ride to the hotel was quiet, except for the quiet melody of the radio. 

It had been a rough day, having a group interview in the morning and then being at the ‘Late Late Show’ in the evening by himself, even though two actors joined them after his first interview that he didn’t even know before. It relieved him, not having all eyes directed at him. The cast was supposed to have some interviews together and some apart. 

Harry rested his head on the cushion behind him, almost dozing off. It was the 13th of February, he had been in LA for three days now and had three before him. 

Louis hadn’t reacted to his letter, as predicted. Not that Harry had expected it, but deep inside, he had still hoped that Louis would have ...cared about the way Harry felt. 

The day Harry had arrived, he had sat in the lobby for hours, telling himself he was doing it only because he liked the atmosphere, but whom was he kidding? He had been waiting for Louis to stroll through that door and call out for his Hazza, falling into his arms while bursting into tears.

How stupid of Harry. 

Harry thanked his driver, greeting the receptionist as he passed them to find his room. He closed the door behind himself with a thump and immediately dropped his bag, walking over to the bed.

Fionn was in his room a floor under Harry, Florence had just left for something and a lot of actors already had a place in LA and didn’t need to stay in a hotel. 

He undressed to his boxers and checked his phone, ruffling his hair.

“Hi Niall, I’m good, thanks. I’m glad that you two are doing well, it doesn’t surprise me, your charm never goes unnoticed” Harry chuckles in a deep voice “Thanks for telling me about Liam and Zayn, Liam did text me a few days ago, but we didn’t talk for long. 

Anyway, about your last question ... the answer is no. And I don’t want to think about it, Nigel”, he said to soften the blow deep within his heart. “And he won’t come. It’s okay, I told him that it was his choice, right? I expected this to happen, honestly” He took a deep breath and softly exhaled. “I’ll call you when I’m back in New York, Ni. Love you”, he ended the audio message, separating his finger from the screen.

Then he answered a text of his mother and sunk into the warmth of the hotel bed. 

He stood in front of a mirror, fixing his tie.

“You couldn’t do that to save your life”

Harry looked up and met Louis’ eyes in the reflection. 

Blue, blue, blue. 

“I think it’s looking pretty well”

“It looks shit. I don’t want my mother to see you like that and think that’s how you’re gonna look like when we get married”

“You’re exaggerating”

“Come ‘ere”, Louis said and Harry walked over. 

Louis hands quickly worked on his tie, then put on his cufflinks and softly stroked his blazer to straighten it. 

“You look great”, he whispered. Harry loved that no matter how much Louis teased him, he was as open as a book when it came to Harry. 

“Very eloquent for an aspiring songwriter”, he said and Louis rolled his eyes.

“You look beautiful”, he said, making Harry smile, dimples showing.

“Please, have you seen yourself? If it wasn’t your mother’s wedding, I’d be on one knee in an instant”

“Why? You could blow me right here”

Harry softly punched Louis’ shoulder.

“You know what I mean”, he said, his hand lingering on Louis’ shoulder.

A hand gently wrapped around his own, softly pulling it away. 

“I know”, Louis says and leans in, blue eyes sparkling.

Harry is being woken up by a loud knocking at his door.

Quickly, he scrambles to get up, tripping over his suitcase, but reaching for the door, because it could - it could be - it could be-

“Hey”, Fionn says, looking at Harry, whose chest is heaving. “You okay?”

Oh. 

“Hi” a breath “Yeah, sure. What’s up?” Another breath. 

“Well, we have an interview at four pm and I thought you wanted breakfast. It’s almost ten. 

Harry turns around to look at the clock. He had completely overslept his alarm. 

“Sure, let me get dressed and I’ll meet you there”

The day is like the rest. They eat, hang around the exterior as Harry reads a book. 

“Steven Spielberg? Really?”, Fionn says with a grin. 

“It’s a good book”, Harry replies, but he thinks he actually preferred it when Louis read it out to him. 

The interview goes without an issue and the day passes. Harry sits at the pool of their hotel after they have dinner outside with the entire cast, laughing about funny things that had happened on set. 

Two days, then he would be back in New York for a week before flying home to his parents, spending a week there. He hadn’t seen them in such a long time and couldn’t wait to hug Gemma and tell her all about the movie.

He looks up to realize that the sky looks the same, no matter the country. “Well, duh”, he tells himself. Those pictures on Instagram are edited anyway. 

He lets out an exhale, breath foggy. 

He wonders if he can ever find love again. For some reason, hoping that Louis shows up never ends. Somehow, those two things go hand in hand.

“Hello”, he greets the receptionist, a woman with short hair and a nice smile.

“Nice evening, can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, I think? Did someone ask for me? Harry Styles?”

“If someone...”, she turns around to her coworker who shakes their head, but does look up for a second.

“Sorry, my shift just started half an hour ago...”, she says again, a pained face expression.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m sorry for bothering”

In the elevator, he unlocks his phone. 

“Don’t be so sure about that”, is what Niall had answered under his audio message. Harry isn’t sure to what part of the message Niall had referred to, and honestly, he can’t care enough to listen to his own message again.

As he walks down the corridor to his room, he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t know that interviewers really cared so much about the actors and actresses relationships and physical appearance. A bit intimidating.

He lifts his head to see a dark figure leaning against what he believes to be his door. 

As he steps closer, he notices white vans, light blue jeans and a green sweater. When he sees the brand of the sweater, he stops in his tracks, making the person look to their side. 

Louis Tomlinson picks up his backpack and Harry hurries over to stop a few steps away.

“...Louis?”

“Seems like it”, the older one answers, his voice a bit rougher than all those years ago, but Harry immediately connects it with warmth and rumpled sheets, but also harsh words. 

“I...I...”, Harry starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “How did you find my room?”, Harry starts again.

Louis strokes a thumb down his own jaw. A younger version of Harry would’ve gone insane at the sight of this beard, probably not shaved for a week. 

“The receptionist can keep a secret. Likes my music, apparently”, Louis says, lifting one side of the mouth to an one-sided smirk. “People here have a different understanding of morality”, he adds.

“You want to come in? I must have some wine in there”

“Sure”

Harry swipes his card and lets Louis enter first, remembering how much shorter Louis was again.

He sinks down in the armrest in front of the window as Harry filled them a glass of red wine. 

When he put the drinks on the table, he saw Louis looking through the book that had laid on the coffee table.

“Starting now? After you meet him in person? Fake fan”, he comments, but it’s not harsh.

“That’s true, I suppose”, Harry says and rids himself of his blazer while looking out the huge window, the lights illuminating the pool and a part of the city, making a pretty picture. He wishes he could put on some music to soften the mood, but he doesn’t dare move, fixed in his seat by Louis’ gaze. 

“It’s about your letter”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t thrown it out”, he says while leaning his head back, trying to relax into the seat. 

“I was about to”, he jokes and Harry smiles, eyes closed.

“Why didn’t you, then?”, he replies, opening his eyes again and taking a sip, allowing the red liquid to rest on his tongue before swallowing it down. 

“Well...”, Louis says and rests his jaw in his hand, supported by the table.

“If I had sent you a letter, would you have opened it?”

“Of course,”

“Well, there you have your answer”

“So”, Harry says and sits up. “You got my letter. You read it. Thanks for that, by the way”, he says, Louis doesn’t seem impressed though. “So what? You decided to just show up here ...to what? Tell me you’ve read my letter?”

“Why so eager? I thought you had time”, Louis says before taking a sip, eyes challenging.  
  
”I’m in LA for two more days, you know that? Why didn’t you find me earlier?”, Harry says, confusion displaying in the way his eyebrows furrow. 

“I did know. To be honest, I didn’t want to find you. But then...I was nearby and in your letter you expressed that you wanted to talk to me so I thought ‘why not say hello?’”

“Hello”

“Hello, Harold”

“You do know what also stood in that letter? Did you miss the ‘I still love you’ part? How I said that you’re it for me? That I want a future with you? Or what? The ‘talking’ part stood out to you? 

I understand if you just want to talk to get closure, but you know what i really want to talk about - I was very straight-forward in my letter, I think”, Harry said, growing more and more frustrated. Did Louis come here to make fun of him?

“Oh, Harold”, Louis tuts. “I thought you knew me better”, he says, before he stands up and pulls Harry up by his wrist, grasp firm but gentle. 

“If I had wanted to get closure, I would have just written you back”

Suddenly, Harry is dizzy with how close he’s standing to Louis, breath stuttered. 

Louis grasp loosens and his fingers reach out for Harry’s face. When he hesitates, Harry pushes his face closer. He feels the soft fingers on his cheeks, his eyes flutter close and he leans more into Louis.

“Oh, my Hazza. You’re much more rugged, huh? More edges and muscles”

“I’ve discovered the gym”, Harry says, allowing the tears to flood over, immediately being caught by the pads of Louis’ thumbs. 

He chuckles low in his throat.

“Still soft though”, he comments and Harry smiles, a sad edge to it. 

“Can you hold me?”, his facade breaks so easily it should scare him, but usually, it never takes long for Louis to oblige to his baby. Or at least, it didn’t back then.

Even this time, Louis embraces him and scratches the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Are the Interviews okay?”

“Mostly, but the questions suck”

“I know”, Louis laughs into Harry’s shoulder. “Took me a long fucking while to get used to that”

“I bet”

When Louis leans back a bit, their noses touch.

“Why are you here, Louis?”

“I had wished you could give me an answer”, he whispers and then leans up.

The first press of lips is soft, gentle, almost hesitant. It doesn’t stay like that though, Harry pressing closer and softly biting down onto Louis’ lip, making the older man gently whimper in the back of his throat, grabbing Harry’s hips, softly pushing him towards the bed, exchanging kiss after kiss. 

When Harry sinks into the cushions, Louis follows by bracketing his hips with his thighs, sucking and licking the skin under Harry’s jaw. 

He bites his lip to keep quiet, but when Louis’ hands disappear under his shirt and brush over his nipples, he can’t stop the words from spilling over, a strand of Louis’ name and ‘please’, making Louis softly grin against his collarbones. 

“Lou, I wanna...I wanna..”, he murmurs, finding it in himself to pull at Louis’ sweater. Louis sits up to rid himself of it, revealing a white tanktop which doesn’t hide any of his tattoos on his chest, the “it is what it is” written under his collarbones. Then, he leans down to help Harry wrestle his way out of the shirt. In the process, he proceeds to grind down multiple times, making both men groan out loud. 

“Please”, Harry whimpers, sweat building at his temples.

Louis stands up to toe off their shoes and socks. Then, he rids himself of his jeans and tanktop before grabbing the ends of Harry trousers, pulling them off with quick pulls. “Are they glued on or what?”

“Just hurry” is what Harry says, but can’t help laughing out loud, can’t believing that this is really happening. Louis appears back in Harry’s vision to put a bottle of lube and a condom on the table. 

Not asking where he got that from, Harry immediately grabs Louis’ face and kisses him, pushing his tongue into Louis’ mouth, letting their tongues fight for dominance. When he settles on top of him again, everything feels different - more intense - like a band snapping. 

Harry immediately lets out a broken moan and pushes his head back, allowing Louis to use him, press kisses into his thighs and along his laurels, suck on his nipples until Harry can’t anymore and rolls them over. 

“You’re gonna fuck me now”, he says, feeling on fire. The air is sticky and he should probably open a window, but that would mean leaving Louis, and no, not happening. Nothing is stopping this now. 

Louis’ chest is heaving, nodding. “I can do that”

“Don’t disappoint me”, he says and looks at the lube, ignoring Louis’ chuckle.

“You don’t want me to do that for you?”

“I’ll think about it”, Harry says and sucks Louis down, making the older one groan. He grabs Harry’s hair just the way he likes it. “Love your curls”, he pants.

He proceeds to bring Louis to the edge a few times before pulling off and starting again, making Louis pay for what he did to Harry, denying him access to his body for such a long time. 

“Harry, I can’t anymore, please”, he says, hair damp and eyes hooded.

Harry grabs the lube and grabs Louis’ right hand, ignoring his tattoos, to lube up three of his fingers. Then he positions himself over them and allows Louis to circle his rim with his middle finger, softly panting. When his finger parts flesh, he exhales shakily and grabs the headrest. 

“Fucking gorgeous”, he thinks he hears Louis say under his breath.

A few minutes later, when Louis curls his three fingers inside of him, he almost falls forward, hips stuttering. 

“Stop, stop”, he says, but doesn’t stop his movements, making Louis chuckle. When Louis puts on the condom, Harry finds the time to brush out Louis’ hair out of his eyes and then pumps Louis’ cock to lube it up a bit, making the glide easier. They have done this more often than Harry can count, but it does feel like a first. 

When Harry sits down, both exhale in relief. Then, Harry slowly starts moving, determined on making it so good that Louis would never want to find someone else. 

Oddly, the thought of Louis being in a relationship never occurred when writing the letter and meeting him here. It’s not really something Harry could ever picture. 

When Louis thrusts up roughly, he groans out loudly, a fine line between pain and pleasure. 

He grinds down, meeting Louis’ thrusts in circular motions. 

When he is close and his movements sloppy, Louis rolls them over again, pulls Harry’s thighs over his waist and starts to thrust into Harry with quick pushes. 

He tries to hold out, but at one thrust, gets distracted for a second and lets the tide wash him over. Louis comes two thrusts later, completely burying himself into Harry and staying like that for a while before pulling out.

He kisses Harry’s sweat-covered forehead before throwing away the condom, opening a window and laying down next to Harry again. He grabs Harry’s discarded shirt and wipes them clean of Harry’s come. They pant into the freshly entered air before Harry turns to look at Louis. 

“Are you okay?”, he asks, brushing a finger over the purple bags under Louis’ eyes. He saw those often when Louis had been studying for weeks straight, only standing up to go to the loo or the fridge. Harry often had to pull him into bed so that Louis didn’t completely go insane. 

“Was my performance that bad?”, Louis jokes.

“No, it was...it wasn’t bad. I’m not kidding”

“Harry, your letter fucked me up”, Louis starts, resting his head on his bicep. “What do you think? I don’t see you for five years and then, out of nowhere, you sent me a handwritten letter and tell me you still love me. I didn’t know what to do”, Louis finally admits, voice more vulnerable than before.

“I know, Louis, I’m sorry about that. It couldn’t wait, though”

“I know. I know it couldn’t, but ... you just sprung that up on me”

“Have you moved on? Because I haven’t”

“Yeah, I got that from your letter”, Louis says and Harry smiles. 

“Have you?”

Louis turns his head and kisses Harry, an answer, Harry supposes. Then, he enjoys the scratchy feeling that Louis’ beard leaves on his skin.

They don’t stay awake for long. Harry eats Louis out, lets Louis suck him off in return, before hushing them both into the shower. Then, Harry quickly changes the sheet with one in the cabinets and falls asleep with Louis softly snoring into his ears.

When he wakes up, thanks to his alarm, he is alone. 

He almost thinks that he dreamt it all, but the soft ache in his bum, the rumpled sheets on the left side of the bed and the bottle of lube on the table next to him tell him differently. 

He sits up, confusion in his bones. 

As he stands up, the soreness really takes him by surprise. To be fair, he hadn’t had sex in quite a while and only Louis really knew how to give it to him the way he needed to. 

There is a letter on the table. Could it be...

Dear Harry, stands at the top in Louis’ messy handwriting. Harry wants to chuckle and sinks into the armchair.

Please don’t be mad that I left. I’m kind of producing an album right now, inspiration struck and I didn’t want to wake you up. I didn’t come to you for sex, you know that.

We didn’t talk much about your letter, but it definitely was something. All this time I thought that you wanted distance. After I hurt you so bad, you left and you didn’t come back. I searched for you, because I knew you must have seen the video. Anne didn’t even give me your new number. At that moment I knew that I had lost you. 

~~I can’t~~ Coming home to an empty apartment woke me up. I took you for granted. I knew we were falling apart, but my pride didn’t allow me to face it. You’re right about everything. We were hurting each other and didn’t talk about it. 

After that, I spoke to Nick about you a few times, but I didn’t want to seek out contact since I thought that you hadn’t forgiven me. But it hurt, seeing Niall, Liam & Zayn and knowing that they knew more about you than me. Me, your  ~~ boyfriend ~~ ex.

I moved to Los Angeles a year after you left and honestly - I can’t tell you how often I wanted to step on a plane and fly over to New York to find you. Harry, it was so hard knowing exactly where you are, but not being able to see you. 

Torture. 

You said you were going to come back in may for a week. Don’t book a hotel room. I live here, remember?  ~~I want to~~ If you want to, of course. But I want you to know that I want you back. So much. Let’s try again. It’s not simple, but you’re worth it. Thank you for giving me another chance. I won’t mess up, I promise.

Love 

Your Louis

Underneath, a phone number. 

Harry inhales sharply at the last two words on the letter. Your Louis. He presses the letter against his chest, swallowing down his heart.

Three months. 

There were so many things they had to sort out and discuss, it wasn’t a guaranteed success. But Louis wanted to try again with him, the feeling of it dissolving the weight on Harry’s chest.

He wanted a full week with Harry. 

Harry touched his mouth with his fingertips, the feeling and the taste lingering. 

He couldn’t wait. 

* * *

Flying back to New York, his friends organized a party to celebrate his huge success, but when he was back in his apartment, he couldn’t help but think about the way Louis had called to check in on him. 

It’s been so long hearing his voice over the phone, something they did all the time when they first met. It was awkward at first, often interrupting in each in their hurry to say something, but easily falling into Louis has always been a strength of Harry.

He had to sort himself out with his work, then flew to Cheshire to see his mother, Robin and Gemma who had flown there just for him. During their third dinner, Harry brought up the subject of Louis. Maybe it was too early, but his parents knew him so well and wouldn’t judge him for following his feelings. 

They didn’t. 

Anne got very excited whereas Gemma looked suspicious. Harry didn’t blame her. When he left, he was an emotional wreck, too heartbroken to eat, sleep, or work. He thinks that he just needed that time at home, feeling like a phone being charged with love and safety.

In may, the premiere was on the second day. Harry landed in LA and had to stay in a hotel for that very first day, because it was close to where the location was and most people of the event (actors, directors, etc.) who didn’t live in LA were there as well. 

The interviews there went well and Harry wore a wonderful suit, according to most people that met him there. Many people wanted a selfie with him and Harry blushed when a few people complimented him.

During the movie, he sat still and sometimes leaned over to Fionn to whisper something about the movie. It was insane, seeing himself on such a big screen, and the other people saw him too. 

At some point, his manager hands him a plate and a fork and tells him to get some food or else he’ll collapse from starvation. As he eats behind the scenes, Louis texts him.

** So what’s the plan? **

_ I plan on leaving in an hour _

** Do you want me to pick you up from your hotel?  **

_ Can you do that?  _

**Yes, I’ll give you time to pack and wait in the lobby. I can park a few minutes away**

He’s so excited his hands shake. When they finally say goodbye to each other, Harry gets emotional. He has been part of such a journey and to work with such amazing coworkers - he says that no amount of success could amount to this.

“Oh, shut up. I bet you’re landing your next hit soon”, Chris says and gently shoves him. 

He gets back to the hotel, packing his suitcase. A few people are going to fly home, but many cast members want to see each other again for a last dinner so they talk about that in the group chat. 

If Harry’s there, he’ll go. It’ll give Louis some space as well. 

With his bag on this back, he walks into the lobby and sees Louis, horribly disguised in a hat and sunglasses.

“I could have almost never guessed it was you”, he greets him and Louis flips him off. Then, he puts his hand on Harry’s lower back like he used to do and guides him out of the hotel. They sit down in Louis’ Range Rover and Harry looks around, but it doesn’t seem like anyone has noticed.

“Hey”

“Hey”, Louis smiles and starts the car.

“I hope I’m not the only one who’s nervous”, Harry says and turns around to store his bag away before putting his seatbelt on. 

“I feel quite good, actually”, Louis replies and Harry sticks his tongue out at him which makes Louis laugh.

* * *

The week passes in pure bliss. When Harry wakes up and feels Louis behind him, softly snoring against his neck, he can‘t help but smile. Nothing is truly resolved, but on day three they sit down and discuss their schedules like the grownups they’re supposed to be. 

They make a plan to at least see each other once a month, no matter the circumstances. Harry will probably get more offers (they expect the movie to be a huge success) and therefore will spend a lot of time in LA or close to LA, having almost finished his work in New York. 

His agent has recommended getting a place here, but now that he’s reconnected with Louis...Harry kind of wants to see where it goes between the two of them.

He secretly hopes to move in, eventually. 

Over the next months, both of them tell their families about what‘s happening between the two of them. Whereas Gemma seems wary at the beginning, their families are happy for them and tell them exactly that when they visit afterwards. 

Niall, Liam and Zayn visit in November when Harry has just accepted an offer for another movie. Harry gets emotional after not having seen Liam and Zayn in a while and they all talk about old times as they drink wine in Louis‘ house. 

They don’t talk about the empty cardboards in the hallway or the new car in the drive.

„It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?“, Harry says now, the night after coming home from shooting the new movie. The light from the bedside-table lamp casts a ray of sunshine onto his bare backside, a bottle of rosé engulfed in his hand.

„I wrote you a letter to warn you about me being here in LA and now I’m in your bed“, he adds and tilts his head to the side, allowing his neck to release a pop.

  
„Our bed“, Louis corrects mindlessly while reading a book. He just complained about not finding his glasses, but that doesn’t hinder him from reading Spielberg. 

Louis‘ new song „Always you“ is softly playing in the background and even if Louis even tried to change it, he knew that Harry would give him a stare of a thousands knives. He’s obsessed with his boyfriend‘s new album and can‘t help promoting it at every chance he gets. The night after they met in the hotel, Louis went home and scratched four songs from his album, replacing them with new ones over the next few months. „Inspiration struck“ is what he said back then in the letter.

„But yeah, over people confronting me about you being here. I think I was only waiting for a sign from you, all this time. When I read that you still loved me at the end of the letter, I had pretty much decided already”

„Why did it take you so long to find me, then?”

“I was scared, because I didn’t want it to be a fuck and nothing else. But then I left like a douche- sorry about that”

“It’s okay. We’re here, now”, Harry says, a gentle smile on his face. Louis did tire him out today.

“We are”, Louis agrees and leans forward to kiss Harry’s lips, both losing themselves in soft kisses, gentle touches and the embracing of bodies.

“By the way”, Louis says and Harry blinks the haze away. “I think it’s more ironic that fucking Steven Spielberg brought us together. And you said that my taste in books-”, he starts and Harry pulls him in again, because he can’t admit that he is right.

Actually, maybe he isn’t. At some point they would have found the way back to each other anyway. Harry doubts that he could have lived a life without his Louis.

It’s tiring at times, working around their schedules. But nothing reminds them more of how worth this is than the time they spend together. They talked about buying a house in Manchester to not always get a hotel room when they visit their families. They talk about their future. 

When they had their first huge fight a few months ago, the urge to just leave for a while overwhelmed Harry. 

Leaving. 

No, he couldn’t just do that every time. He walked around Louis and slammed the glass door to their garden shut behind himself. Technically, he hadn’t walked out. He sat down on the bench and controlled his breathing. Stupid stubbornness. After a while, Louis sat down next to him and handed him a glass of water. Silently, Harry accepted. 

“How about the fifth? I’ll cancel the meeting, I don’t care”, Louis starts after a while, leaning back. Harry sighs, “You don’t have to”. 

  
“Harry, we agreed. Once a month. Is the fifth alright? Four days, I have to be back on the tenth, at least”, it is a cool voice, compared to how frustrated he had talked a few minutes before, wanting Harry to cooperate more, but how, Harry couldn’t randomly cancel Interviews for Louis left and right.

Now, Harry realizes, this is probably something he should be doing as his part. This relationship involves two people, Harry shouldn’t expect Louis to only be the one doing the sacrifices.

“That’s more than alright”, Harry murmured into his hands, tears pooling in his eyes, guilt seeping into his body. Soft hands pulled them away from his face and Louis laid an arm around Harry’s shoulders to pull him in. 

“Next time, I’ll cancel, I promise”, Harry murmurs against Louis’ chest.

“I know, babe, I know”, Louis answers and kisses Harry’s hair, still seeing the little vulnerable boy in him that was scared, seeing Louis slowly pull away day by day.

Obviously, there’s still work to be done here. The thing, though.

They know that it will work. They just know that this time around, they both will put in the time and the work. No neglecting each other and their love for each other any more. 

Entering their house in LA, you see a weird mix of vans and boots in their entry.

The living room is filled with modern looking pieces of art, but it also seems comfy, given the wooden furniture and the plants all over the place, a golden cat stretching on a long couch. 

Books of Steven Spielberg, mixed with literature about psychology, astrology and a few magazines with the newest fashion trends in them, a pair of glasses, forgotten, on an unfinished sudoku. 

There is a cabinet in the kitchen, filled with cookbooks. Pink oven gloves on the table, a newly baked cake in the fridge. They are very proud of their mug-collection. Mugs with “H”, “L”, “Best oldest brother ever”and two with “Toplinson” and “Bottomlinson” on them are their most used, the last two being a present from Zayn. 

When you walk up Louis’ stairs, there’s a letter framed above a long dresser with a vase of flowers. On the top it says: 

Dear Louis 

It‘s me. I bet you didn’t expect this. How could you?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I tried to be more descriptive in adding details and liked the way it looked at the end. 
> 
> Also, because it’s important: This is fiction and not to be taken seriously. Please don’t copy my work (not that I think that anyone will do that, but it’s worth mentioning).
> 
> Stay healthy, you are loved!
> 
> XX  
> H


End file.
